


history twice recalled

by orbitalknight



Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Au Ra Warrior of Light (Final Fantasy XIV), Final Fantasy XIV: Shadowbringers Spoilers, M/M, Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-16
Updated: 2020-09-16
Packaged: 2021-03-07 16:01:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,534
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26500306
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orbitalknight/pseuds/orbitalknight
Summary: Emet-Selch cannot help but indulge the look of someone with a question to ask, even if it takes making a late-night call to their personal suite.(for @AisK_FFXIV on Twitter.)
Relationships: Solus zos Galvus | Emet-Selch/Warrior of Light
Comments: 4
Kudos: 24





	history twice recalled

**Author's Note:**

> For @AisK_FFXIV on Twitter. Definitely check out their artwork if you're an FFXIV fan, it's really great!  
> (and thank you again for trusting me with your WoL! Wishing Ais the best on his adventures ahead~)

The Crystarium was blessed with another night. Not a cloudless night, pristine with starlight, but a night at all was a blessing, felt in the air itself. Even as the dusk faded into a deeper evening, the hum of activity on the tiled streets did not quiet. One could track conversation across the wind, through the Crystalline Mean, and around the markets, ‘til the breeze stopped to stir the drawn back curtains on a window in a suite at the Pendants. 

A bird or a nutkin that chanced upon this selfsame window might have been drawn to the sound that came from within, a crinkle of pages and the scratching of ink being laid to paper. The breeze was not enough to disturb the pages upon which Ais worked, leaves unfolding on the parchment beside lines of text. Among the branches that could be nothing other than the bends and greenery of Slitherbough nestled three memories within a single depiction: a sketch of a painting of a distant history. The ink could not exactly capture the revelations that had accompanied the painting proper, and Ais’ hand lingered on the lines. He would leave it to the journal’s safekeeping for the present, but there seemed a distinct possibility that his thoughts would transfer best to a proper canvas. 

Still, however lost in thought he may have been, it was not so deep that Ais did not notice the company that had invited itself into his suite. 

“‘Twas kind of our friend the Exarch to furnish you with such luxurious accommodations,” Emet-Selch made himself known with a half-wave, idly inspecting something across the room. “Not that he would deign to make  _ me  _ the same offer.” 

Before Ais could get a word in edgewise, Emet was sauntering in his direction, gesturing up and across as he did so. “Oh, do not look so surprised! You could not have looked more curious in the bowels of the Qitana Ravel, and I am not wont to turn down a properly deliberated question. Ah, but what have we here…?” 

As Emet peered over Ais’ shoulder at the journal, the Au Ra instinctively took a more protective stance. Ais picked his words carefully, eyes fixed on the Ascian. “It’s a journal. A collection of memories.” 

Emet-Selch smiled, though it was impossible to tell if it was genuine. “How very noble. And what all do you record, if you do not mind my asking? Surely it cannot be  _ everything.”  _

Ais paged through the journal, feeling the ink that gave the pages weight both physically and for the sake of its purpose. “Everything important.” The journal was a field guide, a campfire in the depths of deep wilderness. So he would not have to begin again from nothing. It would be nice if it was everything, but it was more important that the moments captured in words and image were  _ enough.  _

"Very well," Emet crossed to the other side of the table and seated himself with a flourish before setting both elbows down, leaning upon steepled fingers, "I can do aught but hope you find what I have to say worth putting to paper, no?" 

"I won't be asking you anything until I finish what I've already started writing." Ais looked at Emet pointedly. "For now what you can say is nothing." 

Emet's eyebrows lifted theatrically, but he complied, electing to close his eyes whilst Ais finished the page he'd started that evening. There was about 1/3rd of the page remaining when he had finished, so he sketched a fingernail-sized portrait of his Ascian guest into the adjacent margin of the journal. 

Emet's yellow-gold eyes opened, catlike, as Ais closed the journal and set it on the table. "Now then, where shall we start?" 

"When we first saw the paintings beneath the Qitana Ravel, you said there was a time when anyone would recognize them. That is true for all history, but you made it sound  _ different. _ " It had sounded personal, Ais had thought, rather than the collective forgetting that came with the passing of time. And he hadn't liked it. 

A smile crossed Emet's features, though something in his expression remained harder to describe and even more difficult to interpret. "Indeed. As one who has had a hand," he raised his own, gloved appendage, and twirled his wrist, "In more than one grand imperial endeavor, I can indeed say that the circumstances depicted on those walls were different. 'Twas not a failing of mortal memory, you see, but a mass trauma of the soul itself. And as an injured beast is wont to guard its wounds, what little remains of such a paradise is hidden in naught less than the deepest depths of your perception." 

_ Trauma of the soul. _ The words left a cold weight in Ais' chest. 

The unpleasant sensation had clearly slipped into his expression, as Emet's own smile faded from his features. "Not the most pleasant of truths, though few are. But the truth it remains."

"There is no way to remember?" A question with which Ais was bitterly familiar. He could tell himself that this time it was not so personal, but he had known from the first why Emet-Selch's words had struck such a chord. 

"We Ascians have our ways, though they are reserved for those we would see restored as fellows to our cause." Emet tilted his head, a crease forming on his brows as he made some consideration, "Though doubtless you would not find the process appealing. I cannot claim to have never made such an attempt before, but given your interest... Mayhap a different method?" 

Ais waited, leaning forward slightly. 

Emet let out a sigh, shuffling to his feet. "For now, I can do aught but hope I have provided you with something to ponder. It would not do to favor you overmuch." There was the smile again, "Until next we meet, hero. Do take care." 

With one last wave, Emet-Selch made his exit as swiftly as he had made his entrance. Ais watched him go, then opened his journal once more. As he added what few notes he had from the conversation, his eyes once more drifted across the paintings from the cave as they stood in ink upon the page. 

Ais found, to his own surprise, that they might not have been what he so wished to put to canvas. 

***

Emet-Selch continued his visits in a schedule that seemed oddly regular. 

He would teleport his way in, always, putting the luxurious double door of the Pendant's suite out of work, and inquire about Ais' day, peering over his shoulder at the latest journal page. There was not always something new or grand to sketch out, and at first Ais had been wary of showing Emet the older pages. Emet had not pressed him on the matter, either, despite the obvious curiosity that sparkled in the yellow-gold of the Ascian's eyes.

They were rather persuasive, the eyes of Emet-Selch. They were hooded with centuries of cynicism, sometimes crinkled at the edges with a smirk or likely a scheme. The man had said he'd tailored the body he wore to his own preferences, but Ais couldn't help but wonder how much of that statement had been true. There was a feeling that scratched the back of his mind, however, that insisted the eyes, at least, were the genuine article. Whatever the case, it was difficult to capture those looks in ink. With each visit, another miniature portrait found its way onto the pages of his journal, until the visage of Emet-Selch could be spied for several pages in sequence. 

And so, despite his reservations, Ais found himself unspooling his recorded memories for his guest. In all his desire to recover what was lost, he could not think of a time he actually considered the amount that he had since made new. Emet-Selch's questions were attentive, and as was his gaze. Sometimes, a fragment of their earlier conversation would surface. Emet-Selch was dismissive on this point alone, citing the unfairness of favoring Ais overmuch with information his companions doubtlessly also desired, or that he was still considering the earlier question that had been raised. As the time stretched itself taut between the aftermath of the Qitana Ravel and the impending expedition back to Eulmore, Emet had managed to slowly adjust his position from across the table to the same side as Ais, not quite close enough they could have bumped elbows. 

"You will forgive my absence from Amh Araeng," Emet-Selch lounged with his usual slumped posture against the wall beside the door, having made his entrance for the evening before the Scions were to set forth, "Unlike Rak'tika, 'twas no matter of finding a sufficiently shaded bough to avoid the insufferable light, nor is it quite so cold a place that I would find myself homesick for all the discomforts of Garlemald."

Thaffe and Jeryk beamed up from the page that Ais was in the midst of filling, while above them loomed the Lightwarden that had made its den in Malikah's well. Magnus, the Talos, and the trolley were little more than vague shapes, and in the center of the composition was Ryne, aglow with as much new purpose as Ais could hope to capture. He looked away from his work to address his guest. 

"You don't think I might have enjoyed the quiet?" Ais made something like an attempt to keep his expression level, but couldn't help the smile that pulled at the corners of his lips. 

"Oh, you wound me!" Emet raised a hand theatrically to his forehead, a damsel in distress, "And here I thought that we had been, dare I say it?  _ Bonding! _ " 

Ais stifled a laugh, covering his mouth with the hand that still held a pen. 

Emet-Selch smiled, in a way that reached to his enigmatic eyes, and there was truth in the look that could be described as nothing else but fondness. It was the same favoritism he was so quick to deny when it came to the Scions, readily apparent in his gaze. "Very well," he said, "I'd an invitation for you, but if you'd prefer to keep your own company then I shan't deny you the solitude." He ended the statement with a flourish of a gesture, a hand extended as though he were about to take a bow. 

"Depends on the invitation." Ais closed the journal, an assurance that he was listening to whatever Emet had to say. 

"It requires a measure of trust," Emet strode across the room, shoulders swinging, "But, if you recall one of our earlier conversations, I have devised a means with which I might better acquaint you with that oh so distant past. Intriguing, no?" 

Ais' heart stumbled in his chest, missing a beat. He nodded, slowly. "Go on." 

"Off the coast of Kholusia, and I am well aware 'tis where business takes you already, lies a corner of the ocean that the locals have dubbed 'the Tempest.' While one may chance upon some ruins of that distant antiquity on the seabed, I have taken some creative liberties in the nearby vicinity to paint a more complete picture. I would be most flattered," and here Emet paused, halfway through another grand gesture, suddenly speaking with all earnestness "If you would be so kind as to accompany me for what should suffice as a proper guided tour through the annals of history." 

Ais took a moment of silence, processing all that Emet had said. The offer almost seemed too good to be true. That, and it was mayhaps not the best of ideas to go alone with a man who's order had been his enemies since the outset of his adventures. But the larger part of him could not ignore the prospect of remembering the past, even if it wasn't  _ his _ , even if it was something that everyone he knew had presumably lost. It almost seemed like justice, in that sense, that for once he'd have the missing piece rather than being the only one to lack it. 

"I'll go," Ais spoke at last, "But I need to do something first." 

Emet shrugged. "At your leisure, hero." 

Ais stood, making his way to the summoning bell across the room. He let it ring, waiting for the twinkling light and flash of orange that would denote the arrival of Feo Ul. 

The pixie-turned-fae-king seemed rather surprised at their summoning. "To what do I owe the pleasure, dear sapling?" they chirped, looking around the room. "Oooh, and you've company!" 

Ais glanced at Emet-Selch, who raised an eyebrow. 

"How long is your tour going to take?" Ais asked. 

"However long you should like it to take, I assume." Emet shrugged. 

Ais turned back to the pixie. "Feo Ul, if I haven't called for you again by the time the sun comes up, I need you to tell the Exarch that I went to the Tempest with this man." He pointed at Emet-Selch. 

Feo Ul frowned. "Is that all? Shall I send a pixie along with you? I'd not have you worrying for your safety!" they flew a yalm or so into the air, pointing a tiny but still accusatory finger at Emet, "Do not even think of stealing him away!" 

"Oh?" Emet folded his arms, a smirk curling his lips, "Then do not make it so tempting." 

Ais stepped between the two parties, remaining as level as he could manage when he spoke. "I don't need a pixie. Just let the Exarch know if I'm not back, alright?" 

"It will be done, dear sapling," Feo Ul dipped back down to Ais' eye level, giving a courteous bow. The pixie gave Emet one last dirty look before disappearing in a puff of twinkling light. 

"Now what, pray tell, was that all about?" Emet did not seem overly perturbed but nonetheless wore a slight frown. 

"A contingency plan," Ais said, "How do we get to the Tempest?" 

"Ah. Well, that is where the matter of trust I mentioned becomes relevant." Emet proferred his gloved hand to Ais, "Shall we?" 

Ais looked at Emet, then at the extended hand. "Wait." He retrieved his journal from the tabletop, then placed his hand in Emet's. "I'm ready." 

Emet-Selch smiled. "Splendid." 

A rush of darkness, lightless wind and chill of a deep fog wrapped around Ais' body, rendering him cold through his clothes. The sensation lasted but an instant. When Ais found himself once more possessed of his senses, the scenery around him had changed completely. For all the number of times he'd seen the Ascians teleport, he hadn't anticipated the experience to be so... uncomfortable. 

Emet-Selch was still holding his hand. 

It took a moment of hesitation to break the contact. There had been something familiar in the sensation. But Ais didn't have long to dwell on it, as Emet let go to make a wide arc with his hands, as though he could capture the entirety of the cityscape that spread out before and above them in the length of his arms. 

"I bid you welcome to a paradise of the distant past–" Emet spun on his heel to face Ais once more, "Amaurot." 

Ais took in the scenery slowly, trying to give equal attention to each detail. Impossible spires swirled into the sea above them, curled like vines amongst buildings that seemed to be alight with stars. They stood on a suspended pathway, water churning beneath the stones. Ahead loomed the vague shapes of what could be people, though they seemed too tall, bedecked in identical robes. 

Ais must have been staring blankly, because Emet felt compelled to speak again. "Shall I commence the tour? There is much and more to see." 

Ais nodded, trying to put a name to the feeling that had settled itself in the space between his ribs. It was electric, a vibration, a recognition he could have sworn he was feeling in his soul. Again he remembered Emet's words.  _ A mass trauma _ . And yet here he was, uncovering the wounds of ages past. 

Amaurot, as akin to a museum display as it might have been, felt as alive as any city in the moments just after a rainstorm, aglow and empty all at once. As Ais followed Emet down the pathway, he could hear the quiet hum of conversation from the robed figures they passed. The language wasn't immediately decipherable, a combination of hums and echoing repeated syllables. Still, Ais knew what they were saying as surely as if they were speaking the tongues of the Source. Still, it was not so much an understanding in the way he had understood the speech of dragons. It was closer to the prickle he sometimes felt on the edge of his own memories. 

The figures themselves were tangible, but distinct in only their lack of features. Each wore an identical set of cascading robes and a white, beaked mask that covered the upper half of their faces. They did not look at Emet as he passed, but the masked faces peered down at Ais. They were inquisitive, and somehow friendly, in a way that reminded Ais distinctly of the denizens of the Crystarium welcoming him home after his most recent journey outside their city's walls. 

Emet-Selch watched for a time as Ais took in the scenery, a quiet smile on his lips, before beginning the tour he had promised in earnest. With his usual flair, but also a reverence that his manner usually lacked, Emet talked Ais through each of the buildings in what he called the Polyleritae District, describing their executive functions in the city. The amount of detail was astounding. They did not enter the buildings, but a glance inside revealed more of the robed figures going about their business, attending the desks and benches. There were even trees, bedecked in purple blooms, leading to the steps of the building Emet named the Capitol. 

Ais could not help but pick up on the tenderness with which Emet described the life that had once filled the city, the  _ true _ city, as it had once been. He could see why the Ascian had been so attentive to Ais' own retellings of his adventures. This city was but a journal on a much larger scale. They were bound to memory, both of them, even on different ends: Emet-Selch, keeper of a past that had been lost to time and torn to pieces, and Ais, with aught but the memories he could hold in his hands and those that the future might make. 

Ais couldn't tell how much time had passed by the time they had explored the length and breadth of the city. Emet-Selch had been true to his offer, but Ais' contingency plan was still in the shape of Feo Ul's promise, and he could not linger as long as he may have liked to. 

"I do hope I have given you *something* worth recording in that journal of yours." While Emet had been ahead describing each landmark they passed, he now stood near Ais, the same elbow's length away as if they were still in the room at the Pendants. "Any stirring recollections? Revelations, even?" 

Ais shook his head. "No. Something close, but no." 

Emet shrugged. "'Twas too much to hope for, I suppose. But we should be getting you back before your pixie friend interferes, no?" He extended his hand once more, just as before. 

Ais was less hesitant to take it the second time. 

Upon their arrival, he was quick to summon Feo Ul, assuring them that all was well and there was no need to contact the Exarch, nor had Emet-Selch made any attempt to steal him away. The pixie fluttered away with little complaint, though they still did not seem completely convinced on the second point. 

"And with that, I bid you good evening." Emet-Selch gave a half-bow, turning to leave. 

"Wait," Ais caught him by the sleeve, "Thank you." 

Emet-Selch shrugged, but smiled sincerely. "'Twas nothing... Ais." 

And, with one final twirl of his wrist in a wave, he was gone.

Long into the night, that same sound of ink being laid to paper squeaked its way out through the slatted windows of the Pendants suite. On the pages of the journal itself were a whole host of masks and spires, of history twice recalled. Among them, a face from every angle, eyes never quite how Ais wished to capture them. 

***

They stood upon that precipice of fate, revelations laid bare, scions and sinners. 

Ais could feel the light within him, roiling, a white-hot heat beneath his skin. The edges of his vision burned with it, and the words that reached him through the overwhelming storm of sensation were a distorted few.  _ Disappointment. Faith. Despair.  _

Emet-Selch spoke of the ruin of mankind with a tone that belied no affection, nor any particular interest. He was moderately frustrated, nothing more. Another scheme come to naught, and the ending not to his liking, but his grand plan would still have its ending. 

He spoke directly to Ais, citing pity as his final word. 

“When it all becomes too much to bear, seek me out.”

“You know where to go.” 

**Author's Note:**

> Admittedly, I was a little nervous to write Emet-Selch for the first time... He's a lot of fun, and I was worried I wouldn't be able to do him justice. I do feel a bit more confident now, though. (muscle emoji here) 
> 
> As always, comments and kudos are appreciated!


End file.
